Really Bad Legs
by Bean Rua
Summary: In this humorous spinoff of Genesis' Wolfe's 'Really Bad Eggs,' Jack and crew deal with the realities of mosquito bites.


**Though I do in my fantasies, I do not own Jack. Nor do I own Theresa, as she is the brain child of Genesis Wolfe. Calliope, however, is all mine! No touchies without my okay. This is a spin-off of Genesis' _Really Bad Eggs_, and she has given me the thumbs up on this humorous bent. More to come once college spits me up from its bowels...**

_Welcome to_ The Albino Peacock_, pride and joy of Tortuga! You won't find better food, drink or entertainment, and the loveliest lasses in the Caribbean can be found in my tavern. I am your host, Calliope Miller. Most just call me Calli, but never call me late for drinks! I have many tales, as I have seen just about everything imaginable pass through my doors, but I am only going to share one with you right now. So pull up a chair, Stephen will bring you whatever you'd like to drink, and I will take you back a few months to when the Black Pearl once again docked in our port…_

"Look at my legs!" Theresa shouted as she descended the stairs from the second story, where the rentable rooms were located, skirt hiked up to reveal what normally were quite delightful legs. Now, however, they were riddled with little red marks: mosquito bites. "What man is going to want to slide against these?" The question sounded more comical because of her decided French accent.

Theresa was an extremely beautiful woman, and she knew it. Tall, with a body men paid top-dollar to touch, she had long golden blonde hair that she rarely wore up. The flaxen locks, more often than not, flowed about her shoulders in gentle waves. Theresa's eyes were a golden hazel, though they leaned toward brown when she was enraged…which was more often than anyone liked.

So those decidedly brown eyes were glaring at anyone they spotted. Theresa was dressed for work, though, wearing a sea-foam green satin gown with a split skirt, aqua blue underskirt beneath. The bodice was so tight that her cleavage nearly spilled over quite immodestly. Not that it mattered in this setting; Theresa was a prostitute, after all. Due to the mosquito bites, though, the French pastry went without stockings, wearing fancy slippers to match her dress.

I could only laugh as I counted out the bank for the bar, as our doors would open in a half hour. "I told you to put on the salve, mon chere," I playfully chided her, knowing the French beauty hated hearing when she was the cause of her own misery. "But no! You said, 'I cannot sleep with that stuff on my legs.'" My imitation of Theresa's accent was fair. Fairly amusing.

Theresa dropped the skirt, huffing disdainfully as she approached the bar, where I was. "Well. I cannot," she reiterated. "Not that it matters because I couldn't sleep with those pesky blood suckers attacking me either." She pouted, looking as seductive doing that as when she was charming a customer. I had to admit it, whether I wanted to or not, Theresa was good at being any man's dream.

"Perhaps you'll learn from your mistake and just use it. Enough rum will cure the insomnia." I shook my head when I caught sight of Theresa's petulant expression. She really didn't want the salve on her legs. "Do you want to take bar duty until your legs clear up?"

I might as well have shot her straight through the heart by the look on her face. "What? With the _Black Pearl_ docked? Absolutely not! I _will_ lure that Will Turner to my bed. Right under Elizabeth's nose if I have my way." Theresa smiled smugly, knowing full well she had the ability to do just that.

I, however, frowned at her. "You will do it on your own time, then. Not on my clock." I had a soft spot for the star-crossed lovers and I really didn't want my French tart driving a wedge between Will and Elizabeth. Jack was talented enough at that.

Ah, Jack. Captain Jack Sparrow. It wouldn't be long before he would grace my tavern. Considering I carried the best rum in Tortuga, he couldn't stay away. It was physically impossible for him. Not to mention all the lovely ladies that would fawn over him. _The Albino Peacock_ sated his stomach and his ego.

Just as Theresa, huffing at my warning, lifted her skirt to scratch at the mosquito bites, the front doors rattled open. There, in all his glory, stood Jack. Dark eyes fixed on Theresa's exposed legs, and a wretched grin brimmed his lips. "I know I get reactions from the ladies, but that's a new one, Theresa, my pet."

Horrified, Theresa all but threw down the fabric to cover her legs. "How did you get in here?" she inquired angrily.

"He picked the lock," I answered for him, stashing the bank beneath the bar. "Captain Jack Sparrow can never wait for the doors to open for everyone."

Had I known Jack was going to show up that particular night, I probably would have dressed more to his liking. Granted, I was nothing to shake a stick at. I always cleaned up well. The gown I wore, though, was simple. Just a red skirt over my white chemise, with a black corset to keep things perky. I had black boots on underneath, and my trusty pistols were fastened to my lower legs for ease of retrieval. Still, Jack would be happy that my long, curly blonde hair was unbound.

"Ah, Calli, my dove, but I deserve more than everyone else," Jack announced proudly, swaggering his way to the bar. "I keep gold steadily flowing into your coffers." He took up a bar stool beside Theresa, still grinning at the embarrassed French woman.

"So do Genesis and Roslyn, and yet they wait," I retorted.

"Bah!" Jack waved off my comment about the newest members of his crew. "I'm prettier than they are. And… I apparently make your Peacocks itch with need." His eyes drew once more to Theresa, slowly dropping to her covered legs.

Theresa's brows knit tightly, lips pursing with subdued anger. "I'm going to slap that smirk off your face, Jack. Quit looking at my legs!" The timber of her French accent made it sound almost like a shrieking Banshee.

Jack knew the threat was futile. Though no doubt Jack Sparrow deserved to be slapped, he knew very well I wouldn't allow it. No violence within the walls of _The Albino Peacock_. "But they're such nice legs, Theresa! I've always enjoyed looking at them."

"And touching them," I interjected with a wayward smile. I prepared three mugs of rum and distributed them evenly.

"Yes, and touching them!" Jack agreed with a rake's grin as he nodded.

"Oh yes?" Theresa's eyes burned into Jack, and she hoisted her heavy skirt up, thrusting one leg toward the _Black Pearl_'s captain. "Try touching one now. See how you like it," she challenged.

Only then did Jack look a bit fearful. He eyed Theresa's leg, mottled with raised, red bumps, and his hand hesitantly reached out. It pulled back a few times before he actually lay flesh to flesh. Slowly, Jack's hand moved up from Theresa's ankle and it only got halfway to the knee before he yanked his hand back. "Those are really bad legs."

I couldn't have stopped the laughter had I wanted to. Theresa's eyes glared from Jack to me. "See? If _he_ won't even touch them, why would any other man? I am defective!"

Jack still looked disgusted, and he eyed his hand as if the mosquito bites might be contagious. He even wiped it on the thigh of his pants vigorously. "You're not defective, love. Just…bumpy."

This time I clamped my hand over my mouth so I didn't bark out laughter. As it was, tears were pooling in my eyes. If looks could kill, Theresa would have murdered Jack right on the spot. I used every ounce of willpower to calm myself down enough to speak. "Let's make a toast." I lifted my mug, Jack and Theresa – grudgingly – doing the same. "To the _Black Pearl_."

As Theresa and I brought the mugs to our lips, Jack nodded and toasted again. "And to really bad legs."


End file.
